Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Wren’s rosy cheeks darkened as she waved. “Hi, Mayor Locke.”
Climbing the plank to board, the mayor grinned. “It’s not often we get a female to join us. My wife wouldn’t dare go out in this weather.”
Smiling, she followed the mayor aboard. “I’m honored.”
“Take my hand.” Greyson guided her onto the ship with possessive care. “It’s warmest in the sun.”
The mayor pulled at his snow white beard to keep it from whipping into his face and held out a large thermos. “Erica sent me with some mulled cider to keep us warm. Have some.”
“I thought you were more of a milk and cookies sort of guy,” Wren teased, eyeing his Santa suit.
“Cookies are fine, but I prefer my thermos with a bit of rum—especially for a cold day at sea.” Looking around the marina, he frowned. “Where the hell is Ralph? If he’s not here in the next ten, Larry the Lobstah’s going to be hauling himself into Hideaway Harbor on a dinghy. I have a reputation to uphold,” the mayor said, adjusting his wide, black leather belt. “Santa’s always on time.”
Wren eyed his protruding belly. “That pillow must be warm.”
“It definitely helps.”
Checking a few more dials, Greyson continued to search the marina for their red-headed lobster. Leave it to Ralph to miss his one big commitment this holiday. “Come on, Ralph,” he muttered under his breath.
Pointing to the parking lot, Wren announced, “I see him.”
Ralph struggled through another day of his small-town life, teetering like a drunken sailor as he jumped into the lobster suit and stumbled between the parked cars. When he situated the top-heavy headpiece, he nearly fell off the edge of the dock.
“Should someone help him?” Concern scrunched Wren’s nose.
“Put the mask on after you get on the boat,” Mayor Locke yelled, but his words got swallowed by the wind.
“What a dumbass,” Greyson mumbled, deciding it was better not to watch.
Waddling down to the slip, Ralph nearly bit it on the last plank. His massive lobster costume dragged with every awkward step. The oversized claws—cheap foam wrapped in painted duct tape—hung limp at his sides as he struggled to carry the gigantic headpiece. One antenna had collapsed from the skirmish on the shore.
“Sorry, I’m late. My mom needed help finding her big winter coat.” Common knowledge held that Ralph lived with his mother, and likely always would.
“About time.” Greyson brought the radio crackling to life, more than ready to get this show on the road. He didn’t wait for a response as he clicked the receiver on. “Silver Spoon, this is Anchor One, are you there?”
Wren grinned and came to stand by his side where the action was. “Silver Spoon?”
“Soren.”
“Ah. And Logan is…?”
“Tadpole.”
She snorted and shook her head. “Cute. He must love that.”
“Baby of the family doesn’t get to choose.”
“What’s your dad’s code name?”
“Big Fish.”
“And your mom?”
“My mom hated boats.”
“Of course, she did.”
The radio crackled. “This is Silver Spoon to Anchor One. Wharf is filling up. I’ll alert you when the harbor’s full.”
“We’re leaving the docks now.” Greyson set the receiver aside to man the wheel.
The motor reverberated with age as the scent of diesel fumes overpowered the briny sea air. Moving quickly, he unhitched the last of the ship’s ties.
“Can someone give me a tail tuck?” Ralph barked, spinning in circles, then tripping over the thermos bag.
“Watch the rum!” Santa yelled, grabbing the thermos before thinking to save Ralph.
“Careful,” Greyson warned. “Or Larry the Lobstah’s going to remember what it’s like at the bottom of the sea. Everybody good to go?”
“As good as a lobstah can be—to the harbor!” Ralph called, pointing his claw into the air. It immediately drooped and clunked him on the head.
“Larry the Lobstah’s having a hard time keeping it up,” Wren murmured close to Greyson’s ear.
He chuckled. “I don’t have that problem.”
“No, you definitely don’t.”
Already counting down the hours until he could have her again, Greyson steered them toward open waters.
It was a proud day for New Englanders, one where harbor accents came out in full force. Hideaway’s heritage was a blend of Nordic and colonial settlers. Somehow, that added up to Santa Claus sailing into the harbor with a giant red-headed crustacean to light a tower of lobster traps designed to resemble a Christmas tree. Weird, but one of many weird traditions Hideaway Harbor loved and honored, and one of the few that the Hawthornes actually participated in.
First, his father had captained the Sable Rose. Now, it was Greyson’s turn. One day, he’d pass the torch to Soren, and then Logan would have it last. The thought suddenly occurred to Greyson that that might not happen if the company got divested. But that wasn’t his problem, so he pushed the thought away. Except this time it came back with boomerang force.
Maybe it was his problem.
He glanced at Wren. Maybe, even if it wasn’t, he might have a solution.